


Crowley and Aziraphale's First Date

by boredom



Series: Crowley and Queen (A Friendship to end all Friendships!) [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining Crowley, Unrequited Love, bad dancing, pining aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22638082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boredom/pseuds/boredom
Summary: Two front row tickets and backstage passes to a Queen Concert is the perfect way to get Crowley to actually go on a date with Aziraphale. Will he be able to decide between "just had sex" hair and “very eligible bachelor and perfect dating material for an angel” hair? Will Aziraphale actually like bebop? Will the band not embarrass Crowley in front of his crush?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Crowley and Queen (A Friendship to end all Friendships!) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571422
Comments: 14
Kudos: 121





	Crowley and Aziraphale's First Date

**Author's Note:**

> Not much Queen in this one, but still a lot of fun to write. Enjoy!

Crowley smoothed back his hair and looked in the mirror. He turned his head to the left, then to the right, then to the left again. Then he ran a hand through his hair and mussed it up. He was hoping it looked like “just had sex” hair. He looked to the left. Then to the right. Then back to the left. Then he smoothed it all down. He was hoping it looked like “very eligible bachelor and perfect dating material for an angel” hair. 

He went to muss it up again, let out a growl (that was more of a whine but no one was there to hear it) and marched over to the phone. It rang. Someone picked up. Someone sighed. 

“Crowley,” John said, “for the last time we have a show to get ready for. You look fine.” 

“You can’t even see me!” Crowley said. He looked over at a large, floor-to-ceiling mirror he had set up. His pants were extremely tight and his shirt was artfully ripped to show off his chest, including a very intricate tattoo (he had seen someone on the street with it and miracled a replica on his own body). It was just visible enough that you knew it was there, and you knew it was intricate, but hidden enough so that if someone (Aziraphale) wanted to get a better look, Crowley would have to take his entire shirt off. 

“Is that Crowley?” Roger asked in the background. 

“Yeah, he’s freaking out about the date.” 

“You look fine, Crowley,” Freddie said. “God, why is he more stressed about this than we are to play?”

“Freddie, thank Satan. Sex hair or not?” 

John let out a groan. “For the love of God. Crowley, quit calling us and go pick up Aziraphale already. You look fine. He’s seen you before.” 

“Yeah, if your face hasn’t scared him off yet, nothing will,” Brian laughed. 

“You didn’t answer my question about the hair!” The phone line went dead. “Hello? Hello? Guys, really, I need a lot of help here.” Still no answer. 

He looked at the mirror and ran a hand through it to mess it up, snapped his fingers so that his black eyeliner was perfectly messy, and then took a deep breath. 

The guys were right. He and Aziraphale had hung out loads of time before. If his facial hair in the Globe didn’t scare the angel off, then he wouldn’t dislike this outfit. Crowley thought back to the Bastille and winced. Aziraphale, despite being a few decades behind stylistically, was always very well dressed. He was always beautiful, with his curls perfectly framing his face like a halo. The soft blues, whites, and creams he normally wore complemented his eyes and rosy cheeks perfectly. (It is worth noting that at this point, Crowley is so smitten Aziraphale could wear a potato sack and still be perfect in the demon's eyes).

Crowley, meanwhile, looked like a punk rocker who had gotten dragged through the gutter. This was a desirable aesthetic for those who put safety pins through their cheeks and tattooed anarchist symbols on their biceps, but it wasn’t necessarily something a tartan wearing angel would want. 

“What am I doing?” he sighed, “I’m not sure he even wants to date me.” Crowley grabbed his glasses and headed out the door. The thought had been in the back of his mind for awhile. Aziraphale never seemed to be interested in the whole dating thing. Crowley wasn’t even sure if he had ever even had a lover. What made Crowley think that out of all the angels in Heaven, the demons in hell, and the humans on Earth, that Azriaphale would want to be with him?

Well, he couldn’t back out now. He had invited Aziraphale and Aziraphale had said yes. So whether it was a romantic date or a friendship date, he was going to show the angel what a real rock concert was like. 

He steeled himself at the bookshop door and knocked strong, but not too strong. 

The door opened. “Crowley? Why’d you knock? You never knock.” 

Crowley’s breath was, predictably, taken away at the sight of Aziraphale. He seemed to have updated his style quite a bit. He was wearing a tight-fitting shirt and some lovely acid washed jeans. Dear lord, Crowley desperately wanted to rip those off of him. He also seemed to go the David Bowie route and had some neon pink makeup on his face and his curls had been teased so they were floating around his head. 

“Is this too much?” Aziraphale asked, his smile falling and his hand coming to touch the top of his head. 

Crowley snapped out of his gawking and got his tongue to work properly. “No, not at all. You look perfect. Um, as for the knocking, I….um… I just wanted to be polite. And, you know, and everything.” Words! What were words! How did you form sentences? Five thousand years of talking and he was having trouble now of all times!

Aziraphale beamed. “Oh, good. I did research on what people normally wore to bebop concerts.” He stepped out of the shop and locked it. 

“How’d you do research?” 

There’s a cafe across from a record shop. I sat and watched youths to see what they were wearing and then looked at pictures from concerts.” 

Crowley felt a slight spark ignite in his chest. It seemed like he wasn’t the only one who was worried about how they looked. 

“You look wonderful, my dear. Very punk! Though, I am glad you didn’t put safety pins anywhere. And aren’t you chilly? That shirt doesn’t seem very warm.” 

Crowley opened the door for Aziraphale. “It’s fine, angel. I’ll be warm enough once we get to the concert. Lots of people and whatnot.” 

But Aziraphale didn’t respond to that. He didn’t get in the car. Crowley was about to ask what was wrong when he realized what Aziraphale was staring at. On the passenger seat of the Bentley was a beautiful, vibrant bouquet. Probably the most beautiful and vibrant in all of London. The stress of the date had made Crowley even angrier with his plants. In their fear they produced so many flowers, Crowley had no choice but to pick and arrange them all. He may have had a bit of a fantasy of pulling up to the bookshop, bouquet in hand, and giving them to Aziraphale like a romantic lead in a sodding teenage rom-com. 

“Er, right,” Crowley rubbed the back of his head, trying to figure out an excuse. 

“Are these for me?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Um, I mean. If you want them,” Crowley said lamely. 

Aziraphale beamed at him. “Oh, my dear boy, they’re lovely. Thank you. You didn’t have to go through all that trouble.” He picked up the bouquet and slid in. 

“No trouble. Plants needed to be pruned anyways.” Crisis averted, thank somebody. 

They sped off to the concert, Aziraphale begging him to slow down and Crowley arguing that he was perfectly able to go ninety miles an hour on Oxford street. It was fun. It was normal. It was a good distraction from all of Crowley's fears and anxieties. 

Predictably, the concert was packed with people, but being very good friends with the band had its perks. Mainly, front row tickets with backstage passes. 

“Oh, this is wonderful,” Aziraphale said as they were shown to their area. “It reminds me so much of the Globe, you know, how everyone can stand and watch the performance. I love Albert Hall, don’t get me wrong, but it can feel a bit rigid, everyone confined to seats for the entirety of the performance.”

“Glad you like it, angel,” Crowley said. Aziraphale was looking around, but Crowley was looking at Aziraphale. The lights were hitting him at just the right angle, he seemed to be glowing. Crowley realized on top of the neon makeup, Aziraphale had also put on some sort of body glitter. Not enough to be noticeable in normal light, but under the bright stage lights, he really did sparkle. 

“Beautiful,” Crowley breathed. 

“What was that?” Aziraphale asked. 

Shit, he had said that outloud. He cleared his throat. “Just excited for the show to start. I’ve seen them rehearsing and it’ll be nice to see it all put together.”

“Agreed. Roger was telling me all about the work that goes into a performance like this. Pyrotechnics are common in these types of shows, correct?” 

Before Crowley could answer and ask when the hell Aziraphale and Roger met up, the lights dimmed. The audience got quiet. Then, the sound of a guitar rang out through the hall and the band was off. 

Crowley was slightly worried Aziraphale wouldn’t like the jostling and dancing. To be honest, Crowley wasn’t a huge fan either as it reminded him a lot of Hell. But Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hands and tried to do some sort of dance move that involved a lot of jumping and twirling. Crowley laughed and let Aziraphale lead. 

The set continued, the audience never seeming to stop dancing and shouting. The energy was electric and Crowley was feeling drunk off of the vibe. Aziraphale was smiling and laughing so much. His makeup had gotten smudged and his hair had started to deflate. There was quite a wide circle around them, mostly because, even in a mosh pit, people couldn’t compete with the flailing inept dancing of two celestial beings. 

“Alright, everyone,” Freddie said, out of breath and sweating. The crowd quieted once more. “For the last song of the evening, we’re going to dedicate it to one of our dear friends.” 

The crowd cheered and Crowley’s face went red. If these guys embarrassed him…. Well, there wouldn’t be hell to pay, but there would be something!

“Yeah,” John added. “He finally grew a pair so we thought we’d commemorate this special occasion!” The audience let out another roar. 

Oh, Crowley was so going to kill them now. Thankfully, they didn’t add anything else. Thankfully, Aziraphale didn’t seem to catch what they were talking about.

The familiar tune of “Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy” started up. Crowley shouldn’t have turned red. His body didn’t have any blood after all, but he was extremely embarrassed. Still Aziraphale took his hands once more and they danced together. It was a strange mix of gavotte, head banging, jiving, jumping, and a move Crowley didn’t think would be invented for another few decades, but it was their dance, fully and completely. 

oOoOoOo

“That was wonderful!” Aziraphale said as he hugged Roger. 

“Yeah, glad you liked it,” Brian said, clapping Crowley on the shoulder. 

“You must come to another concert, darling,” Freddie added. “It was so much fun to see you two dancing in the front row.” 

“Really gave us some competition there.” John laughed. “I didn’t know you could dance so well, Aziraphale. I imagine if you didn’t have Crowley as a partner, you could be even better.” 

“I am standing right here.” Crowley growled, though there was really no bite to it. He had had a marvelous time with Aziraphale and he was glad these guys had suggested this whole date idea in the first place. 

“Are you sticking around for the after party?” Brian asked. 

“No, I have to do some work tomorrow,” Azirphale said looking anxious. Oh, so it was actual Heaven work then. Yeah, Crowley understood that trepidation. 

“I’ll take you home then, angel.” Without thinking he wrapped an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders and led him out the door. 

“Bye guys. See you later.” He waved. 

The door shut.

“You think he’s going to get laid tonight?” Roger asked. 

“Oh hell no,” Brian snorted. “That man moves slower than a fucking glacier.”

“We’ll be lucky if those two have sex this century,” Freddie added. 

“Maybe we should get that sex shop across from Aziraphale’s bookshop to send him some things. You know, nudge them forward a bit.” 

They all thought about it. 

“Maybe let’s start with a second date,” Brian said. 

“Definitely second date.” 

“Couldn’t agree more, darling.” 

“Tomorrow, everyone come up with a second date idea for Crowley and Aziraphale,” John said. “And make sure we don’t tell Crowley about any of this.” 

Back at a bookshop in Soho, after a 1926 Bentley screeched down the road, an angel placed a bouquet lovingly in a vase. 

“One day, I’ll catch up to you. I promise.” He kissed his fingers and pressed them to a flower. He couldn’t wait for the day when he could go out with Crowley and love him like Crowley so clearly loved him.


End file.
